The Girlflesh Institute (Nexus) (11 page)

When she saw Vanessa emerge, she gave the girl’s nipples a final tweak, pointed to Vanessa and crooked her finger. Miserably, Vanessa walked over to her. After the enforced intimacy they had shared yesterday and the remote ordeal she had put her through last night, she found being in Miss Kyle’s presence both embarrassing and intimidating.

Miss Kyle looked her up and down in approval. ‘That’s better. You’ll feel much more comfortable now you’re properly dressed.’ She turned and led the way back to the lifts.

Vanessa, instinctively trying to cover her breasts with one hand and pubes with the other, finally found her tongue and said: ‘I don’t call this dressed, Miss Kyle.’

‘It’s hardly less than I usually wear. Why are you covering yourself up? You’ve got a lovely body.’

Was she truly without shame or any degree of self-consciousness, Vanessa wondered? ‘Thanks, Miss Kyle, but I’m not used to showing it off to strangers.’

‘Not outside,’ Miss Kyle agreed. ‘But in here the rules are different. You’ll only attract more attention like that.’

Vanessa took a deep breath and dropped her hands. She was probably right. But it wouldn’t be easy.

Back in the lift, Miss Kyle punched the button for the fifth floor. As they ascended, she said: ‘I think you’ll like working on the magazine. That way you can snoop about and ask questions to your heart’s content.’ She smiled mockingly. ‘That’s what you planned to do here, isn’t it?’

Once again Vanessa vowed she’d make Shillers pay. But first she had to get through day one in a new office, which was hard enough even if you weren’t arriving naked in slave chains.

The lift deposited them in a lobby, which opened on to a floor of offices partitioned by panels of banded frosted glass and filled with people hunched over their desks, talking on phones or peering at computer screens. In the face of such mundane normality, Vanessa had a fresh attack of nerves and acute shame. If Miss Kyle hadn’t been with her she would have turned and run.

But Miss Kyle was leading her down the corridor and she had to follow, meekly bowing her head. Her chains jangled as she swung her arms, so she held them straight down to her sides, drawing them tightly across her lower stomach. It seemed a horribly slavish posture but at least it was neat and silenced her chains.

Nobody made any overt response to her presence. Shiller staff were apparently used to having naked slave-girls running round their offices. Nevertheless, she was aware of many eyes following her progress and appraising her body. At least it’s not as bad as what I was going through this time yesterday morning, she kept telling herself. Curiously, this thought gave her strength.

They stopped outside a door marked: ZARA FULTON: EDITOR. Miss Kyle pointed and Vanessa went down on to her hands and knees while she knocked. A woman’s voice said: ‘Come in,’ and they entered.

Zara Fulton swivelled her chair round from her desk to look at them. She was a tall, full-busted woman in her mid-forties, still looking very attractive, with a mass of dark wavy hair and narrow blue-grey eyes.

‘This is Vanessa Buckingham,’ Miss Kyle announced.

‘Thanks, Denise,’ Zara said.

‘Enjoy her,’ Miss Kyle said, closing the door behind her.

Zara extended her legs to Vanessa and pointed to the toes of her shoes. Feeling slightly sick, Vanessa shuffled forwards and kissed the bright-red polished leather.

Zara patted her head, then stood up and walked round Vanessa, looking her over. Stooping, she ran
her
hands over her outthrust bottom, then slipped her fingers down her buttock cleft into the warm nest between her thighs, eliciting a stifled gasp. Grasping a handful of Vanessa’s hair, she pulled her back on to her heels.

‘Hands on thighs and legs apart, girl,’ she said firmly, and Vanessa obeyed.

Zara cupped and squeezed Vanessa’s breasts and examined her face. ‘Well, you’re a pretty thing,’ she declared. ‘You’ll address me as “Mistress Editor”, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Mistress Editor.’

Zara raised an elegant mocking eyebrow. ‘The Director tells me you want to destroy our company.’

‘Only that part of it that turns girls into sex-slaves, Mistress Editor,’ Vanessa said defiantly.

‘And you don’t accept they’re all willing slaves?’

‘I can’t believe there could be so many of them, Mistress Editor.’

‘Well, we’ll see if we can’t enlighten you on that score. Meanwhile, for the next month you’re going to be a reporter for our house magazine. Actually there are two magazines: the public and the private, you might call them …’

She turned her computer screen round so that Vanessa could see it and called up a new file, which displayed a magazine front page. Under the title
Datumline
was an image of a white-coated scientist, with the sub-heading: ‘Shiller researcher on course for Nobel Prize?’

‘
Datumline
covers the official activities of Shillers and its subsidiaries,’ Zara explained. ‘New projects, personal interest stories about our staff, charitable work, future business trends, feedback and advice section, and so on. It goes out to all our subdivisions and a few of our larger customers. I understand
you’re
a reporter on the
Daily Globe
. Still, you should be able to contribute something …’

From the distaste with which she had spoken her newspaper’s name, Zara sounded doubtful whether Vanessa was fit to write for a school newspaper.

‘However, your main concern will be reporting for our other magazine, with a more select circulation …’

Zara called up a new front page. Under the title
Girlflesh News
was a picture of a naked girl in a green collar. She was kneeling in much the same posture as Vanessa, except that her arms were bound behind her back and a chain was clipped to her collar that looped away out of shot. The sub-heading read: ‘Lorna 7 of Jade Chain breaks One Hour record!’ She was smiling shyly.

‘
Girlflesh
is a newer title, of course, but it’s very popular,’ Zara continued. ‘In fact the scope of the articles is not so different. New restraint devices and methods of training, personal interest stories about the girls, the amount they contribute to our charitable functions, projected expansion of the slave business, feedback from customers, personal advice, etc. So, do you think you’re up to writing for it, girl?’

‘Even the name of the thing makes me sick, Mistress Editor.’

‘The Director said you were honest, though not quite how bluntly. Still, you should appreciate why the title is what it is. We trade in girlflesh, not euphemisms. It gives the girls a chance to read about themselves and things most relevant to their lives.’

Vanessa blinked. ‘They read it, Mistress Editor?’

‘Of course. Sportsmen read sports magazines, engineers read technical journals, so why shouldn’t slave-girls read about slavery? And now we’ll have one on the staff as well. Your byline might be:
“Vanessa:
The Slave Reporter”. I’m sure you appreciate the pun.’

Vanessa clenched her teeth. ‘Very amusing, Mistress Editor.’

‘But it’s what you are. On the Director’s orders, I’m treating you as I would any new slave. She assumes you would suspect we were trying to influence you if we made your time here too easy, and that you’d rather be treated honestly. Well, you certainly won’t get an easy ride in this office. I expect professional work from you, whatever you think of the subject matter. Do you understand?

‘Yes, Mistress Editor,’ Vanessa said grimly.

Zara extended her leg and lifted Vanessa’s chin with the tip of her shoe. ‘It won’t be all bad, girl. You might actually enjoy yourself if you let go of your prejudices a little.’

‘I don’t think of wanting people to be free as a prejudice, Mistress Editor.’

Zara grinned. ‘It might surprise you to know I’m a great believer in freedom myself. Even the freedom not to be free. Now, I’d better show you where you’ll be working. It’s just next door. Follow me like a good pet …’

On her hands and knees, Vanessa shuffled out after Zara into the main office. Her chains seemed to be jingling loud as sleigh bells with each padding step. She fixed her attention on Zara’s shoes as she felt a dozen pairs of eyes watching her. At least the outer windows of the office were mirror glass, muting the daylight and giving her some assurance that she was not exposed to the gaze of half the city.

In the middle of the office, Zara halted and announced loudly: ‘We have a new temporary member of our staff: a somewhat reluctant trainee slave called Vanessa …’ Zara grasped Vanessa by the hair
and
dragged her to her feet so that they could all see her clearly. ‘You should all have read the memo about her exploits yesterday and the new security measures in place …’

Curious and angry mutters mingled as they circled the room. Vanessa cringed in sudden shame and fear.

‘The Director’s made a deal with her. Vanessa’s going to find out the truth about our girlflesh business before deciding whether to report us. She’ll be here for the next month. Treat her like any other slave-girl: firm but fair. Right, that’s all.’

There was an empty work-station in one corner. Zara pointed and Vanessa scrambled into the chair, trying to huddle away out of sight of the other staff.

At Zara’s direction, Vanessa turned on the computer and entered her access code. ‘That won’t allow you to post our secrets over the internet or send e-mails, in case you’re tempted to try,’ Zara warned her wryly. ‘We use standard editing software. You should have no problem with it. I suggest you take until lunchtime looking through back copies of
Datumline
and
Girlflesh
to get a feel of our house style. Then I’ve got an idea for your first article.’

‘Yes, Mistress Editor.’

‘And address everybody here respectfully as Sir or Madam if they speak to you. Remember, in this building you’re a slave.’

‘I’m not likely to forget, Mistress Editor,’ Vanessa said.

Zara smiled and left.

Vanessa tried to hide behind her screen and the small rack of tidy shelving that backed her desk. Maybe she could bring in a few plants to build a bigger barrier? Ten minutes went by and nobody came over or spoke to her. Apparently they were ignoring her … like
you’d
ignore any naked chained woman in the corner of an office.

She tried to focus on the magazine files.

Datumline
was no problem. Bright and go-getting, yet ultimately reassuring and reliable, which was the normal goal of corporate identity projection. After half an hour’s study she knew she could write articles for that in her sleep.
Girlflesh News
was something else.

It wasn’t just the pictures of naked chained slave-girls being put through their paces, or the freaky bondage equipment it featured. She’d seen worse before. It was the underlying assumption that it was all perfectly natural and normal that was so disturbing.

There were features about ‘assignments’ that various ‘chains’ had been sent on, with names and places reduced to anonymous initials, illustrated by carefully cropped photos. Even more bizarre were the quotes from ‘customer’ feedback.

‘Your girls were thoroughly enjoyed by one and all, and showed excellent endurance …’

‘A wonderfully novel sex show …’

‘… responded very well to punishment …’

Vanessa wanted to turn away in disgust, yet there was a horrible fascination about it all. And somewhere underneath, she knew, must be the truth.

Zara came back for her at lunchtime.

‘Did you bring anything to eat with you?’ she asked.

Vanessa realised she had completely forgotten about food. ‘No, Mistress Editor. Isn’t there a canteen or snack machines? Oh, my purse is in my bag … down in the locker room.’

‘There’s a restaurant and vending machines, but don’t worry about money. I’ve already brought you
something
. I thought we’d eat in my office while I tell you about your first article.’

Obediently, Vanessa followed Zara back to her office.

There was a packed lunch opened on Zara’s desk. On the floor was a large dog-food bowl, filled with diced cheese, apple, bread and a scattering of nuts.

‘Now I want to see you eat neatly like a good doggy and not make a mess on the carpet,’ Zara said, pulling Vanessa’s arms behind her and clipping her cuff rings to the snap-hook on the back of her belt. She produced a rubber band and used it to tie back Vanessa’s thick mane of hair, then pushed her down on to her knees.

Miserably, Vanessa shuffled forwards until her face was over the bowl. She had to spread her knees wide and stick out her rear to stay balanced. If anybody came in they’d have a view right up her bum-cleft, she thought. Dipping her head, her nipples brushing the carpet, she began to nibble carefully at the food. Zara sat down at her desk and watched her in silence, while eating from her own lunchbox.

‘Good girl,’ Zara said, after a few minutes. ‘You see, it isn’t that hard. Now, about your first article. This afternoon there’s an induction ceremony for a new chain of girls who are going to start their basic training. That’ll also take a month, so it ties in rather neatly with your time with us. They’ll be graduating just when you’ll be deciding whether to turn us all in. I hope all their hard work won’t be for nothing.’

Vanessa gulped down a mouthful, looked up and said: ‘Graduating? You make it sound like finishing college, Mistress Editor.’

‘Well, they are awarded a diploma at a proper ceremony. Why not? Passing basic training is an important part of a slave-girl’s life. It sets her up for the future.’

Vanessa shook her head in disbelief. It was all madness. She concentrated on clearing her food bowl.

‘Anyway,’ Zara continued, ‘I suggest you follow the new chain through their training. You can interview them individually and find out for yourself why they chose to become Shiller slaves.’

Vanessa nearly choked. ‘You’re saying they really had a choice, Mistress Editor? They knew what they were getting into?’

‘Of course. We selected them most carefully. What do you think we are: monsters?’

Vanessa lowered her head to her bowl again and said nothing.